The author planned to put his usual disclaimer here, but
then decided he was bored with disclaimers. A large group
of lawsuit-wielding lawyers changed his mind. Star Trek
belongs to Paramount. Star Traks and Star Traks: Waystation
were created by Alan Decker. There. Is everyone satisfied?
CONTINUITY NOTE: For anyone who also reads Star Traks: The Vexed
Generation, the following story occurs early in Vexed Gen's Year
Four.
STAR TRAKS: WAYSTATION
"Best Laid Plans"
By Alan Decker
At the borders of consciousness, the Selvan watched.
Watched and waited for a new opportunity to present itself. It had
underestimated Lisa Beck the first time, underestimated her sense
of self and strength of mind. Another approach was required, as
was patience. Time was a factor but not critical.
For now, it would continue to wait...
And watch.
This was taking forever, Captain Lisa Beck thought to
herself as she stood in front of the viewscreen that dominated the
front of Waystation's Operations Center listening while the image of
Captain Kieal of Bechode Prime, babbled onward. Kieal's ship was
the first vessel from Bechode Prime to encounter the Federation,
and, happily for Beck, Kieal came from a friendly culture.
According to Kieal, Bechode Prime was located several hundred
light years away and was interested in meeting its galactic
neighbors. Assuming Kieal was representative of other
Bechodians, they were a bumpy race. He had a row of
circular...bumps running up his nose to his forehead, which was
dominated by four far larger "bumps," two in the front and one at
each temple.
If Captain Kieal was any indication, the Bechodians were
also exceptionally talkative.
"...honored to meet representatives of a government as
seemingly-enlightened as your own. Several months ago we
encountered to group claiming to be Collectors who tried to take
this vessel right out from under us. I do have to ask you one
question, though, Captain."
"Of course," Beck said, forcing a smile as she stole a glance
at the chronometer. She was supposed to be off-shift twenty
minutes ago. As it was, she was tempted just to hand things off to
Commander Morales and be done with it, but she seemed to
remember that was listed as a big no-no in the First Contact 101
manual.
"One of our long range probes passed this way
approximately one of your months ago. At that time, we did not
detect this station, yet now you're here. Can you explain this?"
"We went missing for a while," Beck replied, seeing no
need to give any more details about the whole situation. The
station had been stuffed into a subspace pocket briefly by a rogue
admiral who intended to use it as a staging platform for his
attempted coup. That generally wasn't the sort of thing that you
wanted to mention to potential new allies.
"Ahh..." Kieal said hesitantly. "Does this happen often?"
"Never before and never again," Beck said. And now that
she had the proverbial talking stick, it was time to wrap this up.
"Captain, I'd like to extend an invitation for you and your crew to
dock with us and take advantage of the facilities Waystation has to
offer. I can have my Liaison Officer meet you and handle any
orientation to the Federation that you might like."
"We are most grateful for your offer. These deep space
exploration missions can be rather tedious, and we rarely get the
opportunity to disembark at a friendly port-of-call such as this. We
would love to..."
"Fantastic! I'll contact Yeoman Jones right away. My First
Officer, Commander Morales, will see to your docking assignment. I
look forward to meeting you in person, Captain."
"Yes," Kieal said, thrown by Beck's sudden burst of
information. "Perhaps we could dine together..."
"Sounds wonderful. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Please
hold for Commander Morales." Beck quickly gestured to Morales,
who, as ordered, put Kieal on hold. "It's all yours," Beck said,
making for the turbolift.
"Is there something wrong?" Commander Walter Morales
asked as he located a vacant docking arm for the Bechodian ship.
The vessel was small enough to fit in the main docking bay, but
Morales just wasn't ready to allow a completely alien vessel into the
confines of Waystation's superstructure without getting to know
them a little better...a lot better really.
"Not a thing. Why?"
"You just seem to be in big hurry."
The turbolift doors opened, allowing Beck to enter. She
turned back to Morales and smiled. "I've got plans. See you
tomorrow." The lift doors closed, sending Beck on her way.
"Plans," Morales muttered to himself. He knew exactly what
that meant. Another date with Phillip Harper. Lovely. But Morales
couldn't dwell on that now. He had some obnoxious aliens to direct
into a parking space. The excitement was just overwhelming.
The last thing Dr. Amedon Nelson expected when she exited
her quarters and stepped into the corridor was to be almost run
over by a red-headed blur.
"Woah!" Nelson shouted. "No killing the doctor!"
"Sorry!" Captain Beck called as she charged away.
"Oh no you don't," Nelson said, jogging to catch up with
Beck. "Where the hell are you going?"
"Shower. I'm running late."
"Was I uninvited to another official dinner that I didn't
know about?"
"Date. Phil."
"That explains it. Whose quarters is dinner in tonight?"
"Neither," Beck said as they approached her door.
"Tonight I'm taking him out. The man has been here for over a
month and hasn't really been anywhere other than Ih'mad's
restaurant and the food court, not that he's had much in the way of
free time."
"Owning a network is a full-time job I suppose."
"That's exactly why I'm using tonight to show him some
other places on the station. We've got a lot to offer," Beck
replied, opening the doors.
"True," Nelson said, following Beck into her quarters. "So
where are you taking him?"
"Dillon's. I figured I might as well go straight for the four
star dining experience."
"It'll certainly be better than that Andorian crap you two
insist on poisoning yourselves with."
"You can keep the culinary critique to yourself, Amedon."
Beck looked around at her quarters. "Um...Amedon?"
"What?"
"What are you doing in here?"
"Following you."
"Uh huh. Well, I think I can take it from here."
"You don't want to show me what you're going to wear?"
"No. Thanks anyway. Bye bye."
"Fine," Nelson groused, heading toward the door. "This
isn't fair, though. Wuddle's not here, so I have every right to
meddle in other people's love lives."
"Then meddle with someone else."
"I would, but you're the only one with a love life. Pathetic
really," Nelson said, heading out the door. "Have fun tonight,
Lisa."
"I will. No doubt about that," Beck said as the doors
closed.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Bradley Dillon sat at
his massive desk in his wood-paneled office in the Dillon
Enterprises complex staring blankly at the monitor in front of him.
The monitor was currently displaying a text message of a
mere 5 words:
HAVE SOLD TO SIMMS.
MENNIN
But the import of those words had sent Bradley into near
catatonia. Higal Mennin was the owner of OmegaMart, a retail
chain headquartered on Alpha Centauri that had stores spread
across that world as well as Tellar, Andor, Vega, and even a couple
on Vulcan (a notoriously hard market to crack).
Word had reached Bradley that Higal Mennin was tiring of the
day to day strain of running the OmegaMart Corporation and had
not selected a successor from inside the corporate ranks. Before
Higal, the stores had been run by Mennins for six generations, but
Higal had never married, meaning there were no more Mennins to
inherit the business.
Learning this through his contacts on Alpha Centauri, Bradley
had sent Mennin a communique offering to purchase OmegaMart
for a fairly generous sum. The deal would solve Mennin's problem
and also remove one of the major competitors of Dillon's Supply
Depots on the core Federation worlds.
But Mennin sold to Simms. John Edward Simms, Jr. of all
people. Simms was owner of Simms Ship Lines, but until now the
man had shown no interest in expanding beyond his starliner
business.
That had evidently changed. Simms now had several
hundred retail outlets under his control, and who knew what steps
he would take from there? Would he expand, attempting to go
head to head with Dillon's Supply Depot? Would he change the
OmegaMart name to something with Simms in the title, thus
expanding the power of his brand?
Why was Bradley even worrying? Simms's financial power
was insignificant compared to his own. As far as Bradley knew,
Simms didn't even have the resources to make a competitive offer
for OmegaMart.
But if that was the case, how come he now owned it?
And then the light dawned.
"The G-Pulsar," he muttered, understanding.
Eight years ago while he was still running his Used Starship
Alley on Alpha Centauri, Bradley has sold Higal Mennin's boyfriend a
"gently-used" G-Pulsar, which, three weeks later, said boyfriend
flew into the Alpha Centauri star at an exceptionally high rate of
speed.
The official explanation (and Bradley's firm belief) was pilot
error, but Higal blamed Bradley Dillon. And now, years later, Higal
Mennin had gotten her revenge by refusing Bradley's offer and giving
her company to that upstart Simms.
"Some people really need to learn to let go of a grudge,"
Bradley muttered unhappily to himself.
Phillip Harper responded to his door chime in less than five
seconds, surprising Captain Beck, who was tossing her head back
after making a last-minute readjustment to her hair.
"Um...hi," Beck said as she realized Phillip was watching
her.
"Evening," he replied smiling. "There's nothing like opening
your door and seeing a beautiful woman in mid-hair flip to start
your evening off right. Was that just for my benefit?"
"Not even close, you pervert," Beck said with a grin.
Every person had their little kinks, and Beck had found out fairly
early on that Phillip Harper's was hair, particularly long red hair, of
which Beck had plenty. Of course, she wouldn't admit to anyone
that she'd spent a little extra time after her sonic shower giving her
hair a little extra wave and body for this evening. Otherwise, she
was dressed in a pair of flowing black slacks and a burgundy
Antarian silk blouse. Phillip, meanwhile, was in a dark blue suit
that would give Bradley Dillon's usual dapper attire a run for its
money. Bradley also didn't have the benefit of being a fit 6'2", which
made the overall effect of Phillip's appearance rather striking.
"You did say to dress nicely for dinner," Phillip said as he
noticed Beck looking him over appreciatively.
"That I did. But no fair outdoing me."
"Impossible. You look amazing, as always."
"That'd be more believable if you hadn't said the same thing
after I captured that escaped Botalian slime bear last week."
"But that slime gave your hair such a wonderful shine!"
"You're sick. You know that?"
"I thought you liked that about me."
"Damn. You figured me out."
"I don't think there's much of a chance of that either," Phillip
said, offering his arm to Beck.
"Oooh, and he's smart, too," Beck said, taking the offered
arm.
"So where are you whisking me away to this evening?"
"Well, since we seem to always have Andorian when we go
out, I thought we'd try something a little different. Some place with
a bit classier atmosphere."
"The food court?" Phillip replied.
"Just wait until I tell Ih'mad you said that."
"No. Please no! I'll end up in tomorrow's lunch special!"
Phillip begged mockingly.
"How someone like you owns his own holovision network,
I'll never know."
"It requires just the right level of insanity. Kind of like
commanding a space station."
"I knew I liked you for a reason," Beck said as the pair
entered a turbolift.
"So?" Lisa Beck asked as Phillip Harper looked around at
their surroundings.
"Swanky," Phillip replied. The couple was currently sitting
at a candlelit table in a dim corner of one of the side dining rooms
in Dillon's Restaurant located inside Bradley Dillon's Starfleet
Suites Hotel. While the side dining room didn't have the massive
gold and crystal chandelier that was present in the main dining
room, it also didn't have the main dining room's bright lighting and
incessant piano playing. The side dining room did, however, sport
an impressive collection of bronze and plaster statuary from Earth's
Renaissance era. Reproductions of them anyway. At least Beck
assumed they were reproductions. With Bradley, you never could
tell. He might have bought the originals.
"It just seemed like a shame that you'd never been here,"
Beck said. "The food's great, and you don't see the owner very
often."
"Come on. Bradley Dillon seems like a decent enough guy."
"He is...if you can get through his general air of smug
arrogance and superiority. General rule for you: if you meet a
Dillon, run."
"You know more than one?"
"Let's not go there, I'm eating," Beck said, taking a
spoonful of the French onion soup she'd ordered.
"Oooookay. Did you follow any of that mess with the
Maloxitarian cult on Neptune last month? KNN monopolized the
whole story, but I'm thinking about having Joan Redding try to get
an interview with the Starfleet captain involved. Brewer or Baxter
or something."
Beck choked on a bit of onion. "Baxter," she gasped.
"You don't want to interview him. Trust me."
"Oookay. Is there anyone that you do like?"
"Oh no. Bradley," she muttered in reply.
"Now I'm lost."
Beck silently pointed toward the door behind Phillip, a door
that Bradley Dillon was just entering in something of a hurry.
"Good evening, Mister Harper!" Bradley exclaimed. "I had no
idea that you would be joining us for dinner tonight."
"You didn't get the memo?" Beck asked sarcastically.
"Good evening to you as well, Captain. It's a pleasure to
see you, as always."
"Uh huh."
"Actually, Mister Harper, I'm glad I ran into you this
evening. I was going to be contacting you in the morning anyway.
You see, I'm interested in purchasing some ad time on your
network."
"Kedalfip in our Sales Department will be happy to set that
up for you," Phillip replied. "He's in at 0800 hours every morning.
Just contact him then."
"I would prefer to deal with you personally. There are
other...factors involved."
"Such as?"
"Such as the placement of a story on this evening's AWN
newscast."
"You want to place a news story?"
"I would prefer to have one displaced...possibly two."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with that sales hologram
malfunction at the Dillon's Supply Depot on Rigel Eight, would
it?"
"The girl's eyebrows are going to grow back!" Bradley said.
"And she shouldn't have been trying to get behind the sales counter
in the first place!"
"From what I understand, your hologram went after her
with a plasma torch. What happened to the customer is always
right?"
"Now it's the customer is always charcoal," Beck remarked.
"I can't interfere with the integrity of our news operation,
Mister Dillon," Phillip said. "No one will trust our reporting
anymore if I can be bribed into cutting stories."
"Bribed?" Bradley cried. "No one said anything about a
bribe."
"Would you prefer extorted?" Beck asked.
"I did no such thing."
"You said you'd buy advertising on his network if he cut the
story. Sounds like extortion to me."
"This is business, Captain, something Starfleet does not
engage it. While I value your input on all things military, this is
really not your arena," Bradley said.
"Touchy touchy."
"Don't be too hard on the guy. He had a rough day with the
OmegaMart announcement and all," Phillip said with a smirk.
"Announcement!" Bradley said in alarm. "There was an
announcement to the press!"
"We received the vid clip at 1300," Phillip replied.
"That was before she even commed me," Bradley mumbled.
"Vengeful little..."
"As fascinating as all of this 'business' is, we'd really like to
get back to our dinner...ALONE," Beck said sternly.
"Hang on," Phillip said. "Mister Dillon might want to
make a statement for our viewers." He turned to Bradley. "Should I
get Joan Redding down here?"
"You think this is funny now," Bradley said darkly. "But you
wait. If John Simms, Junior just thinks he's going to waltz in and
have the same success in retail that he's had in the ship business,
he's in for a rude awakening. Bradley Dillon controls this particular
dance floor, and I'm NOT playing his tune!"
"Somebody stop this metaphor. I want to get off," Beck
said.
"OmegaMart was mine! Mine, dammit!" Bradley shouted. "I
will not stand by while that nobody..."
As Bradley was raving, Beck noticed his personal assistant,
Gisele (Beck assumed she had a last name, but she'd never heard
it), enter quietly. She slipped up beside Bradley and placed a hand on
his arm. Bradley stopped in mid-bellow, leaning toward Gisele as she
whispered something in his ear.
"Of course," he said finally. He glanced at Phillip and
Beck. "Enjoy your meals," he said, then followed Gisele out the
door.
"Suddenly, I'm really not enjoying the ambiance here,"
Beck said rising from her chair. "Let's go."
"Oookay. We could always reserve a holodeck," Phillip
offered.
"Definitely not. There are plenty of other places to go on
Waystation. Trust me," Beck said, pulling Phillip past their
confused waiter and toward the door.
"But..." the waiter stammered. "Mister Dillon said the
meal is complimentary!"
"Box it up and send it to Ops," Beck shouted back.
"Oooh. The night shift eats well tonight," Phillip said.
"And so will we. Come on."
"They seem nice," Yeoman Tina Jones commented.
"Oh yeah. Absolutely," Commander Walter Morales replied,
spinning his synth-ale around in its mug as he and Jones sat at a
table in Victoria's Pub watching Captain Kieal and the other
five Bechodians from his crew attempt to play snooker at the table
in the back corner of the pub.
"And it gets you out of Ops."
"Hooray for diplomacy."
"I think the Bechodians can merge into one giant creature
that will kill us all with its plasma breath."
"How nice for them."
"You're not listening to me at all. There's a surprise."
Morales snapped out of his funk for a moment. "Sorry, Tina.
I'm just having a hard time putting on a grin for the meet-and-greet
this evening."
"It could be worse. Remember those Voulads a couple of
years ago who just wanted to see our waste extraction systems."
Morales shuddered. "I still don't know how you talked
Russell into his...demonstration."
"Can I tell you a secret?"
"Sure."
"I had Craig rig Sean's replicator so it added a 'special
ingredient' to everything Sean ordered."
"Special ingredient, huh?" Morales said, cracking a smile.
"Why do I get the feeling Doctor Nelson was involved in this
somehow?"
"Well, I did get her advice on what laxative would work the
fastest."
"Tina, did anyone ever tell you that you have a streak of
pure evil inside you?"
"Anything to keep our guests happy," Jones replied with a
grin.
"Do you want another synthi-cider?"
"Please," Jones said, pushing her mug to Morales, who then
got up and headed toward the bar. A few seconds later, Jones saw
Captain Beck and Phillip Harper entering Victoria's. Mister Harper
gave Jones a friendly wave, then he and Beck sat down at a table
in a corner as far from the snooker table as they could get. Captain
Beck obviously didn't feel like having a chat with the Bechodians.
Jones glanced over at Morales, who was being talked at by
Sanders, the pub proprietor. Sanders was as good at listening as
most people of his trade were purported to be, but what he really
liked was to have an audience as he gave his views at length about
whatever issue happened to be on his mind. Morales was doing his
best to pay attention, which, on the bright side, meant he hadn't
seen Beck and Phillip Harper enter the establishment.
The captain had been seeing Mister Harper for a couple of
months now. Jones would have thought that Morales would be over
it, but Jones could see Morales' face darken every time Phillip
Harper was mentioned. Jones knew a few things about unrequited
love, having had a few crushes of her own over the years, but
Morales' obsession, if that was even the word for it, with Lisa
Beck was entering its third year. This was getting ridiculous...and
possibly unhealthy.
"Here you go," Morales said, putting a fresh mug of
synthi-cider down in front of Jones. "And did you know Sanders
has come to the conclusion that all circuses are dens of evil?"
"The last one we had here certainly wasn't very nice," Jones
said. "So did you want to play snooker with the Bechodians? I'm
sure they'd let you in for a round."
"I'll pass," Morales said.
"Okay. What about that new painting you said you were
working on? Did you still need a model?"
"I decided to cut the person out of it all together. It works
better that way. Besides, I don't think anyone on board would have
been up for the 'pose naked' part of the modeling."
"Why would they have to be naked?"
"Because that's what the painting required."
"But you're the painter. Can't you not require that?"
"It's art, Tina. I don't control what is and is not required."
"But you're the guy with the paint brush."
"Just trust me. It's better without the person," Morales said
with a chuckle. He raised his mug of synth-ale to his lips, looking
around the pub as he did so. Jones groaned inwardly as Morales'
eyes locked on Beck and Phillip Harper.
"When did they get here?"
"They who here where?" Jones replied quickly.
"Them," Morales said, pointing toward the table where Beck
and Harper were looking over a menu padd.
"Them? Oh! Them! I have no idea. I didn't see them
come in."
"Uh huh." Morales started to get up from his chair.
"Where are you going?"
"Official business."
"They're on a date, Walt. It's not really the time for
business."
"Sure," Morales mumbled, moving off.
Captain Beck and Phillip Harper were still perusing their
menus when Morales approached their table.
"Captain. Mister Harper," he said flatly.
"Commander," Harper acknowledged with a nod of his
head.
"Did you decide to move Ops down here?" Beck asked
with a smile.
"The Bechodians requested my presence, and you did ask
me to deal with them."
"True," Beck said. "We seem to be emergency-free this
evening, so enjoy yourself. Just stick to the synthehol."
"Of course. Would you like me to introduce you to Captain
Kieal?"
"We met by way of viewscreen. That was enough for me.
I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Sure," Morales said. "Have a nice evening."
"We will."
"Goodbye, Commander," Harper said.
Morales nodded and headed back to his table where Yeoman
Jones waited. "Did you resolve whatever galactic crisis was
bugging you?" Jones asked.
"Did Phillip Harper just get sucked into a black hole?"
"Nope."
"Then no." Morales took another long drink from his mug.
"I'll be right back. I forgot something."
"Walt! Dinner is going to be here in a second."
"I won't be long."
Jones groaned, this time audibly, and put her head in her
hands as Morales made his way back to Beck's table.
"I'm sorry to bother you again, Captain, but I was
wondering if you'd had a chance to look over Lieutenant
Commander Porter's report concerning the variance in the tertiary
plasma relay in the secondary core," Morales said.
"No. Is it urgent?"
"Probably not, but you never know with these variances.
There's always the chance that it could cause a cascade failure,
igniting all of the plasma in the conduits, which could end up
destroying the station."
"Uh huh," Beck said skeptically. "What's Porter doing
about it?"
"Running a diagnostic."
"Then everything's under control. Night, Walt."
"What? Oh, yes. Good night." Morales once again returned
to his table, where, as Jones predicted, their dinners were waiting.
"Mmmm! Fish and chips!" Jones said, waving a hand over
Morales' meal like some spokesmodel. "Dig in!"
"Wait just one second..." Morales turned on his heel and
charged back the way he had come, almost running headlong into
Captain Beck, who was in the process of leaving her table with
Harper in tow, as he did so.
"Captain!" he exclaimed surprised.
"Whatever it is, tell me in the morning," Beck said as she
and Harper headed toward the exit.
"You're leaving?" Morales asked.
"Yeah. Nothing looked appealing. Good night, Walter. Go
eat your dinner."
"Yes, Captain. Good night."
"Good job," Jones said as Morales returned to their table.
"You drove them right out of the pub."
"They didn't like the menu."
"Maybe it was the atmosphere."
Morales grunted in response, then ripped into his fish with a
vengeance. Jones sighed. Oh well. Better he vented against a bit
of fried food than Phillip Harper.
Phillip Harper chuckled softly as he and Beck made their
way back out into the main concourse of Starfleet Square Mall.
"What's so funny?" Beck asked.
"I was just marveling at your popularity. Aliens want to
meet you. Your first officer constantly wants to consult you. I
hope Starfleet gives you enough credits for doing this job."
"Not even close," Beck replied. "Come on. This hunger
thing is starting to make me cranky."
"We could always go eat on the holodeck?" Phillip offered.
"We're enjoying the amenities of my station whether you
like it or not!" Beck replied. "Even if we have to go the same
place we always go."
"Andorian is fine by me."
"Who asked you?" Beck replied, nudging Phillip's body
playfully with her own. "What do you think this is? A
democracy?"
"How in the hell did I let you talk me into this?" Doctor
Amedon Nelson grumbled as she sat in a booth in the Andorian
Restaurant cramped between the wall and Lieutenant Sean
Russell.
"What else did you have to do tonight?" Lieutenant
Commander Craig Porter asked from across the table. He was
currently decked out what Nelson had called a "crappy looking"
purple tunic covering a simple white shirt and brown pants. It was
supposed to be medieval, or so he claimed. Everyone else in the
Ic'hasssssst V'Kelsnet Andorian Restaurant was similarly
attired...everyone except for Russell and Nelson anyway. Of
course, considering this was supposed to be a medieval dinner for
Porter's Society for Creative Anachronisms group, the attire was
appropriate.
"You promised castles and jousting, not chunky water and
deadly food."
"Well SOMEBODY didn't reserve our holodeck space
when we told him too!" Porter shouted.
"I screwed up! Okay! I get it!" Ensign Mike Waits shouted
back from across the room where he was slipping into his armor.
His punishment for his transgression was to fight everyone who
wanted to have a go at him. Porter's hope was at the end of the
night, Waits' arms would just fall off from holding up his sword.
Ih'mad and the rest of the Andorian staff of the restaurant
had been watching the evening's proceedings with near glee. Their
establishment was full, and combat was in the offing! There had
been a little bit of initial disappointment when they'd learned that
flamethrowers weren't a part of Earth's medieval era, but that was a
small price to pay in return for having the music of swords clanging
throughout the restaurant for the evening.
Porter turned his attention back to Nelson. "Besides, we
gave Ih'mad a menu to prepare. There won't be anything Andorian
here. I promise. Just roast boar and mead and ale and wine and
more mead."
"Great. At least I can get thoroughly sloshed before you
morons start beating yourselves up with swords," Nelson muttered.
She elbowed Russell in the side. "And what the hell's with you?
You haven't said a word since we got here."
"Nothin'," Russell replied glumly.
"Starfleet Headquarters sent out the quarterly promotions
listing this morning," Porter explained. "Sean wasn't on it."
"Captain Beck would of told you if she was promoting
you," Nelson said.
"He could also be promoted by Headquarters. They do
personnel reviews every couple of months and hand down
promotions to people who deserve them."
"I'm never gonna get promoted!" Russell cried, slamming
his fist down on the table.
"Sure you will," Porter replied.
"That's easy for you to say...Lieutenant Commander!"
"I should have made Wuddle come here today," Nelson
groaned. "But no. He had some damn Future of Merriment
conference. Damn politicians."
"You're the one dating him," Porter replied. "You knew he
was the Multek Frequoq beforehand."
"And I fell for him anyway. Stupid me."
"Can I quote you on that?" Porter said with a smirk.
Nelson's boot suddenly slammed into his shin. "OWWWW!"
"That you can quote," Nelson said.
Captain Beck and Phillip Harper stopped in their tracks as
soon as they stepped into the Ic'hasssssst V'Kelsnet Andorian
Restaurant and saw the crowd of people decked out in armor and
other medieval garb.
"Did we throw a crusade no one told me about?" Beck
asked.
"Have at you!" In the nearby Mishtak pit, Richard Theroll,
Colonization Administration bureaucrat by day/Society for Creative
Anachronisms president by night, charged at Ensign Waits, sword
at the ready. Waits parried the blow, knocking Theroll's sword
upward, then swung at Theroll's armored torso.
"Maybe it's dinner theater," Phillip remarked as Ih'mad
rushed over to greet the newcomers.
"A wonderful evening to you, Captain Beck," Ih'mad said.
"You've got quite a crowd here tonight," Beck said.
"A last minute banquet, but I can make room for you. We
have a massive grizniizk roasting in the back as we speak. I'm sure
there's enough for you and Mister Harper."
"I shall smite thee in the name of King Arthur!" Richard
Theroll shouted, taking another wild swing at Mike Waits.
"Er...I don't think so," Beck said. "You folks have fun with
your weapons." She noticed Dr. Nelson sitting across the
restaurant. "At least medical help is standing by." Nelson took a
long, long drink from her mug of mead. "On second thought, it
appears the medical help won't be standing for too much longer,"
Beck added. "Good night, Ih'mad."
"Good night, Captain. Come by for breakfast! I'll make
you a wonderful grizniizk and mushroom omelet!"
"I'll do that."
Beck and Phillip headed back out into the mall concourse.
"Holodeck?" Phillip asked.
"No," Beck said, biting her lower lip as she considered her
next move. Aha! "I have one more idea...and we can get food
while we're there."
Lieutenant Russell was watching Waits and Theroll's
battle with disinterest when his commbadge chirped. "Watson to
Lieutenant Russell."
"Go ahead," he replied after tapping the badge.
"We just got a red light on the monitor from Trinkets of
Tellar."
"Red light as in break-in?"
"I think so. The shop was closed today for the Festival of
Gribnak."
"I'll be right there," Russell said.
"Right here or right there meaning the shop?"
"The shop, Watson. The shop. Russell out."
"Go stop some crime," Porter said.
"Save me some boar," Russell replied. Waystation's
Chief of Security hopped up from the table and charged toward the
Mishtak pit. "Waits, let's go!"
"But I'm beating him!" Waits replied as Theroll staggered
backwards from a bonk to the helmet from the pommel of Waits'
sword.
"He'll be here when you get back," Russell said. "We
have work to do."
"All right," Waits whined, clanking out the door after
Russell.
Russell hadn't made it five steps into the mall concourse
before he was run over by a rapidly moving figure. Honestly, he
didn't mind so much because it was a fantastically-toned female
figure wearing a skin tight body-suit.
"It's a good thing I don't give out speeding tickets,"
Russell said as he and the woman lay in a heap on the deck.
"But I'm pretty sure that outfit deserves a warning."
The woman laughed weakly as she scrambled to her feet,
checking to make sure the small pack she had flung across her back
was still there. "I'm very sorry. I'm just late to meet a friend."
"I could be your friend," Russell replied with a grin as he
stood up.
"I really need to go."
"So do I actually. Possible robbery at the Tellarite jewelry
store. Say, you wouldn't mind if I looked in that bag, would you?"
he asked casually.
The woman blanched, then bolted toward the nearest
turbolift.
"Dammit! Why are all the gorgeous ones criminals!"
Russell cried, running after her. Waits was right at his side...then
fell behind...then farther behind...then stopped altogether as the
armor wore him out.
"I'll get back to the office and track the turbolift!" Waits
called after Russell.
"Gee thanks," Russell shouted back sarcastically.
"I don't think I've been down here," Phillip Harper said as
Captain Beck led him to a set of double doors on Deck 87. "I
thought it was all quarters."
"Mostly, but we have a few recreational facilities around."
"Recreation, huh? What did you have in mind?"
"A private showing of some appropriate film or another.
No one really uses this theater, so we should have it all to
ourselves. What will it be? We've got a huge collection of
holovids and a bunch of the old 2-D-ers, if you like the classics."
Beck opened the door to the theater and was greeted by the
image of some poor sap being attacked by a massive bug on the
room's large screen.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" the crowd gathered in the
theater screamed in disgust. Beck squinted her eyes against the
darkness trying to see who was in there.
"What do you want, Beck?" a gruff voice demanded from
her left. Colonel Martin Lazlo of the Federation Marine Corps
was standing right beside her, glaring.
"Sorry, Lazlo. I didn't realize the theater was
occupied," Beck said.
"I reserved the space with Morales. If you'd have looked at
the scheduling chart, you'd know that."
"Like I said, I'm sorry." She winced as a giant bug rammed
something into a man's skull and started sucking. "What the hell
are you watching?"
"Starship Troopers. Good military drama. And it gets the
troops ready to face anything."
"Like giant brain sucking bugs."
"You never know. The galaxy is a dangerous place."
"Uh huh. You folks have fun."
"This isn't fun. It's training!" Lazlo snapped.
"Whatever. Night, Colonel." Beck closed the theater
door, leaving her and Phillip alone in the corridor. "So much for
that," she grumbled.
"Come on," Phillip said, taking her hand and heading back
toward the turbolift.
"Where are we going?"
"You're just going to have to wait to find out, aren't you?"
"The holodeck," Beck said once they'd arrived at their
destination a few minutes later. "What a surprise."
"You sound disappointed," Phillip said.
"I just...I wanted you to see more of what Waystation has to
offer. You've only been here a couple of months, and half of that
you've been away at meetings. I don't think you've had the chance
to really get to know the place."
"You sound like you're trying to sell it to me."
"I just want you to be happy here."
"I am, and that has nothing to do with whether or not I can
get a meal in peace," Phillip replied. "I have to admit I've grown
pretty attached to the management around here."
Beck wrapped her arms around Phillip's waist. "The
management is heading toward starvation. What have you got
hiding in that holodeck?"
"Computer, start program Harper Three."
"Program complete. Enter when ready," the computer
replied after a few chirps. The holodeck doors opened revealing
the interior of a dimly lit club. On stage, a four piece band
consisting of a guitarist, drummer, pianist, and sax player were deep
into their own tunes.
"You like it?" Phillip asked. "It's a little club I used to go
to back in Boston. I did tweak the kitchen a bit, though. It's got
food from this place in Chicago I ate at all through college. Great
stuff. And the band is the Ray Jenkins Quad. Late 22nd century
Fission Jazz. And after dinner, we can head outside. There should
be a horse-drawn carriage waiting to give us a night-time tour of
the French Quarter."
"I thought this was Boston."
"This is my holodeck program," Phillip said with a smile.
"It's everywhere I want to be."
"Catchy," Beck replied.
"And the evening will end with some dancing at a ball in
Paris...if you're up for it."
"Dancing?" Beck said. "I don't... Dancing has never
been..."
"You want to give it a try?"
Beck grinned. "Sure. Why the hell not? I can make a fool
of myself in front of some holograms."
"Great. Then let's eat!" Phillip said, moving toward a table.
"Lieutenant Russell to all security personnel," Beck's
commbadge erupted suddenly. As captain, she A) had to keep her
badge with her at all times, and B) got updated on all security
alerts, neither fact she was thrilled about at the moment.
Russell's voice continued its announcement. "Be on the
lookout for a human female. Approximately 170 centimeters tall.
Thirty years of age. Wearing a dark purple catsuit. Exceptionally
form-fitting. Nice form, too. She's wanted for questioning in
connection with the robbery of Trinkets of Tellar. Russell out."
"Something wrong?" Phillip asked.
"They can handle it," Beck said.
"Russell to all security personnel. The suspect is on
Deck 43, Section 29-Baker. Moving fast. 30-Baker."
"So...did you want to sit down?" Phillip asked.
"Just one second," Beck said. "Exit." The holodeck doors
appeared, then opened as Beck approached. Phillip watched in
confusion as she stood at the exit, counting down on her fingers.
"Five...four...three...two..."
Beck stuck her arm out of the door, clotheslining
Russell's robbery suspect. The woman hit the ground in a heap,
gasping for air. Seconds later, four of Russell's officers and
Russell himself converged onto the scene.
The captain nonchalantly allowed the holodeck doors to
close and headed back over to Phillip. "Okay. Where's the food?"
she said, taking Phillip's arm and leading him to a table for two near
the stage. "I've got to keep my strength up for the rest of this
date."